


The Lion and the Hero

by Gimmemocha



Series: The Hero & the Lion [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gimmemocha/pseuds/Gimmemocha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For Kizzy, who loves love.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Lion and the Hero

**Author's Note:**

> For Kizzy, who loves love.

Neria walked across the courtyard and debated spending some time and energy regrowing grass. Most if it had been trampled into dust, the earth packed hard beneath a fine coating of pale tan. 

Then again, it would only get smashed to death again within a few weeks. Best not to waste the energy, and let them come up with a long-term solution. Already she had heard discussions of quarries and granite paths being laid, as any rain – or later, melting snow – inevitably turned the courtyard into a sloppy mess.

Still, it was making the hem of her dress dusty, and she wanted to look her best.

She took a moment at the top of the stairs to shake the skirts, dislodging as much of the dust as she could before stepping into Cullen's office.

He wasn't alone, but he rarely was in the middle of the day. All eyes glanced at her when she entered, but his captains were accustomed to her presence. She gave a faint smile to Cullen and set her burden down on one of the bookshelves.

She ignored most of the conversation behind her. Troop deployments, rotations, promotions, supply lines, it was never ending. She had done her share of it, though the Grey Wardens of Ferelden hadn't been large enough to be called an army since before Ostagar. She, like most Wardens, preferred to be in the field, hunting and recruiting, with stops at Amaranthine or Warden's Keep only to rest and resupply.

Not that she'd had the option much. Not as the commander, a title of which Weisshaupt had never seen fit to relieve her despite her long absence, even when she left others in charge of the Ferelden Wardens for over a decade. She was still Warden-Commander.

Then again, after Corypheus's depredations, she was once again one of only a scant handful of surviving Ferelden Wardens. Likely the First Warden felt his decision was justified.

More likely still, he spared barely a thought for Ferelden.

She unpacked a few things from the basket, pouring a cup of tea and adding a drizzle of honey to it. The spoon clicking against the heavy mug went largely unheard as the people behind her continued their conversation. Nor did they stop when she slid behind the desk and set the mug near Cullen. He did pause long enough to flash a smile at her, then went back to the debate.

Neria took her time with the basket, cutting long, thin slices out of the center of a wheel of cheese then rolling them around shreds of meat and vegetables. These, too, she set near Cullen. He didn't look up from the map on his desk, but did stuff one absently in his mouth.

The care and feeding of her lover accomplished, she curled up in a chair in the corner with a book from the shelf, and fought the urge to chase the captains out for Cullen's own good. She understood his obligation and his passion for his work, and knew well that the demands of his position not only did come first in his life, but should. People with their own lovers, families, homes, all depended on him to keep them alive. They offered their lives to him to use as he saw fit, and he would spend them only with the most parsimonious frugality, hoarding them, miserly in his use.

For her to arbitrarily decide he must stop what he was doing to pay attention to her was the worst kind of selfishness. So she sat in a chair and read about the evolution of arms and armor in the Chantry. It wasn't a particularly fascinating topic to her, but it kept her mind occupied while she waited.

She woke from a light doze sometime later at the touch of a finger stroking her jaw. Looking up, she saw Cullen standing over her, smiling.

"I wouldn't have woken you," he said, "but I feared your neck would cramp."

She returned his smile sleepily. "I've slept in worse places than a chair in a warm office," she said, uncurling her stiff legs and stretching them gingerly.

"I'd imagine. Thank you for earlier. For the food."

"I find I quite enjoy taking care of you. You take care of me often enough."

"Not that you make it easy."

She stood and draped her arms over his shoulders. "If I made it easy on you, you'd grow bored and find someone more of a challenge for your skills."

His hands settled at the small of her back. "My skills, is it?"

"They are considerable," she murmured as his head lowered toward hers. She closed her eyes, tilted her face to meet his ki—

The door to his office opened. "Commander!"

Irritably, she flicked a hand at the door. A blast of frigid wind knocked the messenger back out onto the parapet. The door slammed shut and crackled under a coating of ice.

Cullen laughed. "Neria…"

"I know, I know. But there are two other doors, if he feels it's that important. Kiss me quickly, before he goes around."

"Never quickly," he said. His hands pulled her closer, tugging her hips against his and pinning them there while his lips claimed hers.

When the messenger made it through the center door, Neria sighed and dropped her forehead to Cullen's chest. His hand stroked her side, her back, apologetic. "What is it, Corporal?"

"I'm sorry, ser. My lady. It's just that the Inquisitor sends her regards and asks if you wouldn't mind coming to discuss the disappearance of soldiers from Caer Bronach."

"I doubt she was that diplomatic."

Neria threaded her fingers lightly into Cullen's fur collar and didn't look up, didn't move away. She closed her eyes and listened to the smooth cadence of his voice, took long inhales of his scent.

"Well, no ser."

"What did she say, exactly?"

"She… That is, the Inquisitor said to tell you – in her words, that is, Commander, ser– get your tin-plated ass to the war room."

He chuckled. "Yes, that sounds more like her. Very well, Corporal, I'll go now."

Relief. "Yes, ser. Thank you, ser. Beg pardon, my lady."

Cullen kissed the top of Neria's head as the soldier backed out of the tower office and shut the door. "So much for our little interlude," he said softly. "Tonight? Dinner?"

She nodded, then looked up and smiled at him. "I'll be here." Her fingers smoothed the fur where her touches had disarrayed it. "My lion of Ferelden," she murmured, a smile teasing her lips.

"I'll thank you to forget that nickname."

"You love it."

" _You_ love it," he said. "I tolerate it." He kissed her again, a brush of his lips, a promise. "I have to go."

"Yes, I know." She dropped her hands away from him and stepped back.

He hesitated. "Are you all right?" he asked, brow knit.

"Fine," she assured him. "Go, do your job. I'm not going anywhere."

After another hesitation, he nodded and left.

Neria sighed at the closed door and brushed a hand over her skirts, feeling the fine material slip across her fingertips. She looked down and swayed a little, back and forth, just to make the material swish around her ankles. 

"Oh well," she murmured to no one, then left the tower room. 

 

_Come. Run hunt chase kill. Rend bite. Come eat feast flesh blood hot. Come._

_Sensations spilled through her. The feral joy of running down terrified prey. The thrust and cut of weapon and claw that sent hot blood across her hands. The taste of it, coppery and soft at the same time, filling her mouth and coating her throat like velvet. Meat, still hot from the body, fatty and tender, tearing easily under daggered teeth. Beneath her mouth, her victim rattled one last breath tinged with a whimper._

_Someone – something – grabbed her hips, mounted her from behind while she fed. She barely heard its grunts, but hard thrusts forced its cock deep inside her, rocked her forward against her prey, shoved her face into the pile of meat and bone and blood. She paid him no mind. The meat was only good as long as it was hot, and the body had already begun to cool. She clawed and shredded the belly, digging down to where the flesh was still warm, The slippery weight of the liver melted across her tongue as she shredded it and swallowed it down._

_Sated, she tried to sit back but couldn't, her unseen lover still fucking her, using her. On her hands and knees, she looked down at the carcass, saw the remains of a young man just old enough to show a smattering of fuzz across his upper lip. She couldn't tell if he was growing a beard to match; the lower half of his face was torn away, jaw hanging sideways, dangling from muscle and sinew._

_Harder. Faster. Growls rising. Teeth sinking into her shoulder. She whipped her head around to snarl at her lover. The Hurlock met her gaze from scant inches away, his cloudy-white eyes narrowed, lips peeled back from teeth stained red-black with her tainted blood._

_Darkspawn._

Screams woke her, echoing off stone. She was snared, trapped, and flailed wildly to get free. Arms tangled, legs tangled, she screamed again, fought against the twisted blankets that restrained her. Someone touched her, a hand grabbed her, fingers dug into her skin. 

Magic detonated at her will, flinging him away from her. She spun in circles, seeing only walls, barriers, no doors, thin windows, a hole in the floor that would only lead her deeper down, no escape, no clear way to the sky, to flight, to getting away from dirt and rock and caves.

He didn't touch her again, didn't try. Instead, he moved in front of her, turned to keep himself between her and the walls. She saw his chest, unbloodied and whole, his stomach intact, muscles shifting smoothly as he moved with her. He was naked, blatantly male though unerect. She snapped her eyes up to his face. His scruff was heavier, his eyes were darker, his hair lighter and rumpled and curly.

"That's right, just look at me. Look at me. No," he said sharply as her eyes flicked away. He snapped his fingers, the sharp sound jerking her attention back to him. "Right here. Neria. Who am I? Tell me what my name is."

A flicker of recognition as the dream unwound its thorny tentacles, peeling away in slow, thin layers. She blinked rapidly.

"Breathe. Keep breathing. Say my name."

"Cullen," she whispered, then looked around the room as though she still expected to find herself on that… farm? Had they been at a farm? She thought they had.

He let her look away this time. "Yes," he said. "You had a nightmare."

"No," she said. Adrenaline emptied out of her. Her legs shook, and dizziness made the room wobble.

He touched her arm lightly, nudged her back to sit on the bed. "A nightmare, Neria. I swear it. I know how real it can seem."

But it hadn't been a nightmare. Not really. Not entirely. She had no doubts, none at all, that somewhere tonight a family on a small farm had been slaughtered by a band of roving darkspawn. A vision, mingled with the growing urgency of the Calling. Every night, it seemed, it crawled deeper inside her, created emotions and urges and desires out of nothing more than the darkspawn taint she carried.

He pushed a cup into her hands. She drank without sniffing it, grimaced but didn't choke at the strong slap of liquor on the back of her throat. Only then did he sit next to her, bracing himself with one arm behind her on the bed.

She turned slightly to set the empty glass aside on the bedside table. The table. On her side of the bed.

Full recognition of where she was, what had happened, slammed home. "Oh Maker, Cullen!" She tried to turn to him, horrified by what she had done, but he wrapped the arm around her and pulled her against him, warmed her cold skin with his body. 

"I'm fine," he assured her, tucking her head under his chin. "You didn't hurt me."

Neria set her shaking hands on his chest, curled her fingers into fists. "Are you sure?" she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I could have hurt you so badly."

His chuckle was a warm vibration under her cheek. "You've forgotten last week when I drew a sword on you. I don't recall you making me apologize."

It hadn't been funny at the time, not in the least. She wasn't very good at non-lethal combat magic, really, and it had been a near thing. They had moved his weapon rack downstairs to his office after that.

"I don't think we can move my magic into the office," she said.

"We don't need to," he said, hands sliding down the skin of her back. "All you did was push me away. I should have known better than to grab you."

She clung to him a little longer, just for a moment leaning on someone else's strength. She closed her eyes, listened to the steady, calm beat of his heart and let herself believe that he had her. That he could protect her and keep her safe.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier," he said, "but you looked lovely in that dress."

"I borrowed it," she said. "Evelyn found it for me. One of the courtiers is about my size."

After a moment, he said uncertainly, "That seems a lot of work. What was the occasion?"

Now wasn't the time. "I wanted to look nice. I can't always go about in mage robes and armor. Even I like to look pretty every now and then."

"You never fail to take my breath away," he said, fingers of one hand skimming the curve of her bare hip. "Fierce in battle or fragile in sleep, you are beautiful always."

She closed her eyes. Maybe it was the right time after all. "Poet," she said, a soft accusation.

He chuckled again, twining a lock of her hair around his hand. Every night, she unbraided it for him. Every morning, he helped her get the night's tangles out.

"I have two things to tell you," she said, fumbling for the words she'd rehearsed over and over earlier in the day, "and one thing to ask you."

"Very well," he said, confused.

She pulled away, searched his expression, saw there only patience and quiet confidence. With another sigh, she shook her head. "This wasn't at all how I wanted to do this," she said. "I wanted a peaceful moment and a pretty dress, a wonderful memory."

"Neria…"

"No, it's all right." She laughed a little. "I suppose with you and I, most of our moments are like this moment right now. Trying to recover from everything that's gone before. Maybe this is best."

She tried to frame the words, had been wrestling with them for days, and found that everything she had prepared was still woefully inadequate. "I have to leave," she said.

He nodded, uncertain. "All right."

"For a long time. Months. Years, maybe."

"What?"

Her fingers curled over and around his, holding his hands. She shifted closer to him, tangling one leg over his, the soft hairs on his legs tickling her skin. "You know about the Calling. It… Every Warden succumbs to it eventually. As we get older, as the taint in us grows beyond our control, we know we will answer it. To prevent that, Wardens go into the deep roads, killing as many darkspawn as we can before we're overwhelmed, dragged down, and killed."

"You've told me this before."

"Yes. Well. What I haven't told you…" She took a breath, tried to inhale courage along with the air. "What I haven't told you is how badly the Calling is affecting me."

His fingers tightened under hers, a quick clench of his hands. "What do you mean?" he asked. "You said it takes twenty or thirty years before—"

"I said it usually does. Our histories tell us that those who fight the darkspawn often are affected younger. Those who become Wardens during a blight, younger still."

He freed one hand to set a knuckle under her chin, forcing her head up.

Reluctantly, she lifted her eyes to meet his.

"How badly?" he asked quietly.

"Bad," she admitted. "Since the broodmother, almost every night to some extent. Tonight it was…" She shook her head, tried to look away but he caught her chin between knuckle and thumb and brought her head back around.

"Then you'll stay here," he said. "Or Amaranthine, I know you've duties you cannot fulfill here. Stay out of the deep roads, away from darkspawn."

"I'm a Warden, Cullen," she said. "Darkspawn are the sole reason for my existence."

"No. Not the only reason."

"Please, just listen."

Reluctantly, he released his hold on her chin and sat back.

She nodded a little, more to herself than to him, and looked down at their hands still wrapped together. "As I've said, our tradition is that Wardens go into the tunnels and seek their deaths in battle. But I'm no longer certain that's true. I think…" Nausea rose, settled when she swallowed. "I think Wardens go into the tunnels, but I don't think they get killed. Not all of them. I think they get… taken. The female Wardens, at least."

She peeked up at him, hoping he would understand what she was telling him without having to say it.

When he understood, she saw it. Saw his expression go from uncertain thought to abrupt anger, disgust. "Darkspawn make broodmothers," he said. "You said they take women, corrupt them, rape them."

She nodded a little.

"And you think female Wardens… You think they become broodmothers?"

"Or something like. I'm not certain. We're already tainted, blighted. I don't know if it… if it works on us as it does on other women they capture."

"But you think they try."

"I know they do," she said. "Because I dream about it."

"Blessed Maker, Neria," he breathed. "No wonder you wake screaming. I don't understand how—" He stopped himself.

"No, please, go on."

"How is that any kind of call? Does it just drive them insane after a time? I should think you'd only want to run as far away from darkspawn as you could."

She had struggled to find the right way to answer this, had half-hoped it wouldn't come up. But he had far too nimble a mind to overlook such a thing, and she never wanted to be that kind of coward anyway. "Do you remember when we were leaving the darkspawn tunnels? That night we camped there. I woke you up?"

"Vaguely," he said, frowning. "Not really. Why?"

"There was a darkspawn following us. Watching us. Just one."

"And, what, you got up alone in the middle of the night to kill it?"

"Yes, actually. But only because it woke me."

"Woke you?"

"It called to me. I heard it. In my head." Then she shook her head. "No, more than that. In my heart. It… made me feel things. A desire to run and never look back. To hunt. Hunger." She couldn't look at him but forced herself to. "Lust."

He caught himself, but she still saw the flinch, the desire to pull away from her.

"It wanted me. And I wanted to go with it. That's what I dream about, Cullen. Killing people. Eating them. Mating with darkspawn. And part of me wants it."

"Maker's breath, enough!" He jerked to his feet and paced a few steps away, running a hand through his hair.

"More than enough," she agreed, battering down the pain in her heart, the part of her that said he couldn't stand to touch her, to be with her. "So I'm leaving, to find a cure."

"A cure?" Hope sparked.

She nodded. "There are rumors. I knew one man who never felt the Calling, despite his age. He gave me some clues. And Weisshaupt has the greatest collection of Warden lore and history that exists. There may be more information there."

He drew in a deep breath, held it, then expelled it in a long sigh. "All right," he said. 

She remained silent, letting him grapple with it all.

"All right," he said again, sinking back down beside her on the bed. He huffed a short laugh. "You do tell me everything, don't you?"

Her lips tugged upward slightly, a wan smile. "Would you rather I didn't?"

"No," he said. "I want to – need to – understand what you're going through."

She nodded. 

They sat next to each other in silence. After a moment, he took her hand again and laced their fingers together.

Together.

She closed her eyes against the upswell of emotion. This man. Andraste, this _man_.

"I lost track of how many things that was," he said.

"Sorry, what?"

"Two things, you said. Two things and a question. How many things was that?"

"One," she said.

"That was more than one!"

"Well if you're going to be that way about it, it was more than two as well, but I lumped it all together as one thing."

"All that intelligence," he said, shaking his head, "and you can't count."

"Look, I'm the one who came up with this. If I say it's one thing, it's one thing. Do you want to hear the other one or not?"

"I'm not sure if I can take another thing." But he kissed the tip of one of her ears, cupped her face in his free hand.

Her heartrate sped up. It had been easier to tell him about the Joining ritual, about the Calling, about her dreams, than it was to tell him this. She hadn't expected that. But maybe she should be kinder to herself. It was understandable.

"I was only teasing," he said, looking down at her. "Whatever you have to say to me, whatever it is you need to tell me, I'm here."

"I know," she whispered. She shook her head and looked up at him. "I truly _know_ it. You're always here. Always strong. Always ready to help me, defend me. You look at me and I see such things in your eyes. Confidence. Satisfaction. Contentment. More things than I have words for. But I feel them." Tears filled her eyes, made his face waver, and she blinked them away.

His brows twitched down. "Is that a bad thing?"

"No! No. I just never thought anyone would look at me like that. Not someone who knows everything I am, everything I do. Even other Wardens. Most of them see only the Warden who stopped a blight, the Warden-Commander. They don't see me, they don't know me. Not since Alistair."

She felt the tension in him. "Ah. Alistair."

"I loved him. I love him still. I always will, I suppose. That's the kind of heart it seems I have. Once I love, it's forever."

He grew more uncomfortable still. "Of course," he said. "He was a good man, a king as well as a War—"

"I love you."

"—den." He blinked at her. "What?"

"I love you," she said again, head tilted back, searching his eyes and expression. "I've fallen so perfectly in love with you that it wasn't like falling at all. It was more like… becoming. There is nothing in all the world that could be as right as being in love with you. I love you, Cullen."

He stared at her, jaw dropped ever so slightly. 

She waited, fearful. Hopeful.

"Say it again," he said hoarsely.

"I love you."

He took her face in both hands, locked his eyes on hers as if to be sure he could see it as she said it, to be sure he was hearing her correctly. "Again."

"I love—"

He kissed her, inhaling the last syllable. 

Without releasing her, he turned to kneel on the bed, slid a leg over her. She sank back, drawing him with her, stretching her body under his.

"Wait," she whispered, turning her head away.

He kissed her jaw, the side of her neck, traced more kisses up the curve of one pointed ear. 

She laughed, breathless. "Wait," she said again, louder, flattening her palms on his bare shoulders.

"Why in Thedas would I wait?"

"Because I still have a question to ask you."

He groaned. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Some self-control, if you please, Commander."

But when he tried to push away from her, she wrapped her legs around his hips.

"That is not helping my self-control, Warden-Commander," he said, low and husky.

"Then stop talking so I can ask my question."

"Fine." He dropped his hands to the mattress and pushed his upper body higher, a motion that stroked his hips down, the hard length of his cock sliding over her.

She caught her breath.

"Well?" he asked, with a slow smile.

"Just for that, I shouldn't ask at all."

"You have five seconds before I decide self-control is overrated."

"Will you marry me?"

She had struck him speechless a second time.

"When I go," she continued, more serious now, "when you're not there to wake me from my nightmares, not there for me to hold on to when the Calling is at its worst. When I'm alone with my fears and the darkness rising in me, I don't want to think about my lover waiting for me. I want to think about my husband."

Without waiting for an answer she hurried on. "We can never have children. And the odds are so against me finding the answer for the Calling. I might not… I might not ever come back. It's selfish and cruel of me to even ask—" 

"Yes," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Yes, it's selfish and cruel?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yes, I'll marry you," he said. "I'd have asked you if you hadn't asked me first. I have loved you all the years of my life, and heavens will sunder before I'll let you go again. I need to know you'll come back to me. The Warden-Commander may wander the world if she wishes, but my wife…" 

He hesitated, his eyes tracing over her. "My wife," he murmured.

"Cullen."

"Yes?"

"That's enough self-control for now."

 

She stayed for a week more. 

There would, Evelyn predicted, be howls of protest from all quarters when word got out that the Hero of Ferelden had married the Lion of Ferelden in a ceremony performed by the Herald of Andraste, but she assured the newlyweds that she had been perfecting her cold stare and was well-prepared to handle any diplomatic crises that came about.

There wasn't time to get away from Skyhold entirely; neither of them wanted to waste what little time they had left in traveling to and from a more secluded spot. Instead, they retreated to a room inside the Keep, the room formerly given to Neria before she had moved into Cullen's tower. Meals were delivered, on the Inquisitor's orders, along with plenty of wine and a rather embarrassing amount of clean linens.

When she woke screaming from another nightmare, they knew it was time.

She declined the offer of a horse, winnowed down the supplies offered to her, and in the end left with a pack scarcely bigger than the one she'd arrived with.

Just outside the gates of Skyhold, they stood with hands entwined, her looking up at him, him looking down at her. In the pre-dawn chill, their eyes met, held.

They stood in silence as the sun slipped higher over the mountain peaks.

With no word spoken, no signal given, they stepped back from each other. Magic rose, swirled around her in visible streamers of white. Green light brightened, flared.

He tilted back his head to watch the owl take to the skies. It flew in one circle overhead, then headed west, away from the rising sun.

With an icy wind at his back, Cullen turned and walked back through the gates of Skyhold, heading for his empty tower.

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd asked me a week ago, I would've said Cullen and Neria's story was done at the end of The Hunt. But I suppose they wanted a better goodbye than that. So now they have this. Someone at Bioware better hurry up and tell me what happens to the Hero of Ferelden. I'd like to write their reunion.


End file.
